It's Not Always What We Want
by Sidney James TD Lemon 1900
Summary: Post4x16. House doesn't think he should live anymore because he thinks his only friend wants him to die. But things aren't quite what they seem! Or are they? Sorry, bad summary, just read it. H/W strong friendship and eventual Huddy. R
1. Behind Tired Eyes

**I've never done angst before...but I'm feeling rather angsty myself these days so we'll see how this goes. Basically this will be a slightly different take on how the story goes after all the chaos. Might be _slightly_ OC but not too much because I HATE out-of-character stories. But there could be a few moments...so just bear with it. This will only be a few chapters long unless I have a stroke. (..Of genius, that is.) Feedback is great, please and thanks. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own _House_ or _Fox_. If I did, do you really think I'd be on here fanfictioning? (actually, I probably would..heh heh) **

**Now, without any further ado...**

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_Am I dead? _

_I should be. _

_Wilson's gonna hate me. _

You kind of deserve it.

House looked away and tilted his head forward slightly. Yes, yes he did. He was responsible for causing his friend in so much pain. He deserved it. He deserved everything that had happened to him. He should be dead. _That's what he truly deserved. _

_He's my best friend. _

True, he never expressed his feelings, but deep down in the dark and twisted pit of House, he really did care for Wilson. Wilson was the only family he had left in this world, the only one who really accepted House and all of the baggage that came along. He was the only one who would stand by him and help pick up the pieces of his screwed up life. And now…now he would be gone. House had finally driven him away.

Get off the bus.

_I can't. _

_It doesn't hurt here. _

He's never honest. Not like this. Sure, House is blunt with people that he doesn't know or doesn't care to hurt with his crude honesty. But he is never honest with himself. Not like this.

_I don't want to be in pain. _

_I don't want to be miserable._

_I don't want him to hate me. _

They seemed like good enough reasons to just give up. He wanted to stay on that obnoxiously white bus with her forever. He didn't want to go back. Here, she didn't even blame him for what had happened.

He knew Wilson would though.

_Well, you can't always get what you want._

He hardly thought it fair that his own life motto was being used against him. To force him to live a life that he wasn't sure about.

_So why the hell am I walking off this bus?_ House thought to him self, as he strode (not limped) off the bus that had changed so many lives.

--

Cuddy hadn't planned on staying long in his room.

To be honest, she wasn't sure if she had the strength to do it. To sit by his comatose side knowing that he wouldn't wake and crack some smart ass comment to her about sitting there so pathetically. She wanted to, but she couldn't.

Really, she had only come in to check his vitals. She had been on her way out, on her way to her office to hide away so she wouldn't have a break down. But before she turned to leave she stole one quick glance at him. And she was so glad she did. For in that second, House had opened his eyes.

In an instant, Cuddy was at his side, her hand holding his. She watched him weakly blink and felt she should make her presence known. To let him know that he wasn't alone.

"Hey," she said rather breathlessly, "I'm here."

He said nothing, but stared at the wall opposite of him with tired but blazing blue eyes. For a moment, Cuddy felt her stomach hit the ground, fearing that the concussion, seizure and coma had damaged his brain.

"Blink if you can hear me," she begged quietly, knowing that if he were actually coherent that he would scold her for such begging. But she didn't care right now.

Pause. Then, House slowly blinked and Cuddy felt her stomach bounce back to its proper position with relief and she gave a quick sigh.

House took a shallow breath and tried to say something in a whisper. As much as she wanted to hear his voice, she stopped him. "Shh, don't try to talk." She said with a small smile. "Just rest."

He complied and closed his eyes again without any argument, which Cuddy found bizarre. She had never seen him so…weak. And it scared her. So she stayed by his side.

However, what she didn't know is that House wasn't trying to just rest. He was trying to give up again. He didn't want to be here…living. Yes, he had someone at his side who was now clinging onto his hand, grateful that he was alive, but he knew that there was at least one person in the world he didn't want him alive. And that one person was the only one he cared about at the moment.

It was strange. Normally, Greg House doesn't give a damn about what others think of him or want from him. And now suddenly…he did. Just for this moment.

He drifted, feeling the stroke of Cuddy's thumb against the top of his hand.

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**again...all feedback is wonderful. cheers.**


	2. So Much Emotion

**thanks for the reviews. i'm slowly getting into some medical stuff here...which i'm not fully knowledgable in yet, so let me know if i mess anything up or if you have any suggestions. keep reviewing please! thanks. - the management. **

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2.

Wilson squinted against the bright light that flooded into his office.

"Wilson?" came a female voice from the door.

James Wilson was on his back laying on his couch in his office. The lights were off and blinds closed- not that they made a difference since it was getting dark outside.

It had been such a long day.

The thin beam of light that stretched from the hall beyond the door had landed right on Wilson's face, so he shifted slightly to get out of its path.

Cameron entered and closed the door behind her, making the room dim again. "Are…you alright?" she asked quietly and instantly regretting the question. Of course he wasn't doing alright. His girlfriend was dead and his best friend was in critical condition. She wearily walked over towards the couch, arms crossed, unsure of what to say. Instead she stared at him with pity written all over her face.

After a moment, she squatted down to eye level with him. "Wilson…you should go home. Get some rest."

At first he said nothing and just stared at the ceiling above, shaking his head slightly. He took a shaky breath and sat up, making room for Cameron on the couch.

"I…I can't. She's not there." He whispered. "It's not even _my _home anymore."

Cameron, who was now at his side, placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Now would be a good time to tell him, she thought. News of his friend might be of some relief to him. "House is awake."

Wilson went rigid and looked away. "Great," he mumbled coldly.

Cameron frowned. "What's wrong?" she asked, feeling stupid again for asking stupid questions.

"_He_ should be dead." Wilson said in a voice that did not belong to him. A voice that dripped with bitterness. He looked at Cameron with red, teary eyes. "Not _her_."

Cameron stared speechlessly into Wilson's deep, brown eyes for a moment before she finally realized. _Of course. _He blamed House for Amber's death. She watched him heave in and out shaky breaths. "Wilson…he's your friend-…"

"I don't care. He takes-…" he paused, "He takes everything, it seems. He-"

"You can't blame him for this. He didn't want this any more than you did. It's not his fault. It's not one's fault. It was only an accident-"

"But if it weren't for him she…" his felt a hitch in his breathing, his voice now wavering, "…she wouldn't have been there…she'd be alive…Amb..er…"

At the sound of her name, he gasped and quickly buried his face in his hands. "Oh God…Oh God…" he whispered.

Cameron slid her hand to his other shoulder so that she now held a sobbing Wilson in a loose embrace. She had never been very close to Wilson, but her heart bled for him right now as he wept there in the dark office. She knew how he felt. She remembered how it was when her husband had died.

Cameron knew.

What she did not know, however, was the rage of mixed emotions of sorrow, bitterness and hate that Wilson was feeling now.

--

He didn't know why, but Wilson found himself wandering in the direction of the ICU some thirty minutes later.

_He's your friend._

Wilson felt partially foolish for wanting to blame everything on House. But blaming it on him made it easier, for some reason. What he didn't understand, he thought as he slowly trudged down the hall, is how Amber wasn't angry about her passing.

It wasn't fair. Nothing was fair.

He stopped in front of the doors of the Intensive Care Unit as they slid open. Beyond them was a sleeping House and a napping Cuddy in the chair next to him.

He didn't deserve that kind of support from her or from anyone. He didn't deserve what he had right now…life.

Half a second later, Wilson could have kicked himself for such a thought. Why was he standing here wishing death upon someone…especially someone he considered his family?

As he stood and pondered these thoughts, he noticed that House was beginning to stir. He watched and waited as House's weary blue eyes slowly wandered around the room and eventually found Wilson's teary brown ones.

As they stared at each other for a moment, Wilson realized that he couldn't handle this right now. Somewhere, deep down inside, he was somewhat relieved that his best friend was ok. But for the moment, he couldn't help but hate him. At the same time he hated himself because he also knew that if he could, he would trade House's life for Amber's in a heartbeat. In a way, he already had.

He was so confused.

With one last glance, he turned and left.

--

_Oh, God. _

House leaned his head back on the pillow. The stupid lumpy hospital pillow. The stupid hospital that was keeping him alive. Oh so bloody well alive.

_He hates me. He really does. _

He could sense it in his cold stare…that stare that said absolutely nothing to him. He rightly deserved it though. It was his fault that his girlfriend was dead. How do you make up for something like that? How could someone possibly forgive another for such a thing?

It wasn't fair. _Because misanthropic drug addicts should die in bus crashes. The young, do-gooders in love should walk away clean. _

Oh, how that white bus looked so good to him right now. There was nothing there. And yet, nothing seemed so marvelous.

House looked to his left at an exhausted looking Cuddy, who apparently hadn't left his side since he first woke from the coma.

Coma.

Seizure.

Heart attack.

Concussion.

So much had happened to him. It was amazing he was still alive.

He closed his eyes, keeping Cuddy's hand in his own. It was comforting, even though he felt he shouldn't be comforted at the moment. He let his mind wander back to the past days events. It was ironic…he had put so much time and effort into trying to remember it all…and now all he wanted to do was forget every bit of it.

He felt himself slipping away as everything began to replay in his mind, this time in slow motion, as if wanting to torture him with it all over again.

--

The jerk of his hand is what stirred Cuddy at first. She lifted her head from the back of her chair and looked over at House in the bed next to her. She kept a gentle grip on his hand and watched as his head would occasionally twitch from side to side. His lips moved slightly, as if trying to say something, but no words came out. _He must be dreaming._

"House," she said quietly. She knew he needed rest, but he also needed a neuro check as well, just to check his concussed head.

When he didn't respond to his name, she leaned forward and shook his shoulders. "House," she said again, this time a little louder.

He let out a small gasp and jerked his head to the side as if startled. The movement must have hurt his aching head even more because following that he groaned.

"House, wake up," Cuddy demanded, now on her feet and hovering over him with worry. She watched as he muttered something completely incoherent and began to think that he was hallucinating again. Which was not a good sign with a head injury like his. She decided that he needed another head scan, to check the swelling.

The _last_ thing she needed was for him to slip back into a coma.


End file.
